


With The Ages

by WernickesArea



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Elf! Yuta, M/M, Prince! Doyoung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 23:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WernickesArea/pseuds/WernickesArea
Summary: “And here is Nakamoto Yuta of The Pale, our eyes and bow.”Yuta rose to his feet, his auburn hair clashing against his pale complexion. He directed his attention toward the king as he spoke. “It is a great honour for me to stand before you as one of your loyal warriors.”Then he turned his smoldering gaze at Doyoung. “May my arrows serve you good, until the last breath I take.”





	With The Ages

**Author's Note:**

> Many references to the pre-existing world of Skyrim are made.  
> No previous knowledge is necessary to understand this story, but for any doubt or curiosity about what I'm writing about, you can consult the wikia page [here](http://elderscrolls.wikia.com/wiki/Skyrim).

Fire crackled in the giant hearth, the smell of burnt hawthorn wood mixing with the intoxicating scent of wine and mead that was being served to every guest. Long tables were laden with food, golden candle holders sitting in between baskets of freshly baked bread and ripe fruits. Doyoung folded his hands on his laps, letting his spine sink into the softly padded back of his throne. His father was sitting right beside him, jeweled crown resting over his graying hair. His squared shoulders were as steady as an oak tree, never wavering even under the influence of the alcohol that by that point of the night must have started to settle over him. Bards from the nearby academy livened up the atmosphere, playing well-known tunes and letting tipsy attendees belt out slurred lyrics. 

It was supposed to be a night of blitheness and joy, where everyone came together to drown their worries in good liquors and even better company. However, Doyoung couldn’t let the heavy feeling sitting low on in stomach go, unease crawling up his back each time his eyes didn’t come across the pair that he had been wishing to see all day. He recognized the high Cleric waving at him from the back of the room, his long robes making him stand out even more — his features were enough to set him apart from any other inhabitant of Solitude. 

Doyoung glanced at the king, his father too busy discussing with the heads of his council to bother keeping track of what his son was interacting with. Nonetheless, he tried his best to move inconspicuously, dodging behind the pillars lined across the great hall. Fortunately, all the guests were treading a state of sottish ignorance, eyes breezing past the prince whose head was adorned by a delicate diadem encasing the symbol of the Royal Family. 

“Your Highness”, the cleric bowed, his unusually colored hair covering his eyes. 

Doyoung huffed, hitting the man on his shoulder. “Don’t start with this nonsense Taeyong, no one is listening.” 

Taeyong chuckled at his friend’s reaction, beckoning him to follow his steps. They made their way down a poorly lit corridor, walking past a handful of locked doors and scuttering servants. They reached a stone, winding staircase and climbed it,ending up in a secluded area of the king’s quarters. The room was being used as a small library, the leather bound books that filled the floor-to-ceiling bookcases for the sole use of magic-versed individuals. 

The carpeted floor muffled Taeyong’s steps as he approached a round table placed right under the only window in the room. It was dark outside, but Doyoung could see the brightest stars shimmering above. Taeyong lit up the candles that were scattered all around them, bathing the room in a soft glow. 

There, on the table, Doyoung could see a rolled out map, kept in place by crude daggers. It depicted the Empire of Tamriel, with its vast regions — high mountains framing scarcely inhabited planes. Different spots were marked all over the map: camping sites of their troops, dangerous crossings, relevant hunting sites. Doyoung had assisted at the reunion between his father and his loyal counselors, so he knew what the big, red circle right over Riften meant. 

“Your father is set on advancing the soldiers all the way to the south.” It wasn’t meant as a question, but Taeyong’s voice gained a slight inflection at the end, making his worries seep through. His dark eyes were set on Doyoung, the latter torn between staring back or boring holes into the worn out map. 

“He has been planning this for months now.” Doyoung’s own voice was but a thin string, words as flebile as tendrils. He inhaled deeply, finally lifting his eyes to meet his friend’s ones. 

“He will want to go”, Taeyong uttered. They weren’t talking about the King anymore, and they both knew that. A shadow settled over Doyoung’s features, his lips losing all their warmth. When he opened his mouth to reply, he could almost feel the ice seeping out of himself. 

“Of course he will”, he whispered, “of course.” 

Taeyong stepped closer to the prince, his reassuring presence anchoring Doyoung to the present. He couldn’t let himself get lost into sweet memories of what had passed, afternoons spent roaming the Clearpine Pond, sharing promises under the rising moon. 

“What are the Divines saying?” Doyoung asked in hope of distracting himself. If he tried hard enough, he could trick himself into thinking that his heart wasn’t close to collapsing on himself.

“They have been silent for days now.” Taeyong closed his eyes, tilting his head upwards. His closed lids fluttered, incomprehensible whispers tumbling out of his lips. Then, he spoke with more clarity. “My visions from Sovngard are fogged, too. I’m really sorry, Doyoung.” 

The prince shook his head, collecting himself and setting his head upright. He adjusted his diadem, his fingers brushing over the coiling floral patterns. “Don’t be, I shouldn’t be relying on you this much. As future king I should be more aware of the weight of my requests.”

Taeyong furrowed his brows, ready to retort, when the distinct sound of trumpets coming from the main hall broke their exchange. 

Almost as Akatosh himself had given Doyoung wings, the prince rushed all the way back to the celebration that he had left behind. Even the servants had stopped their chores to huddle into the giant hall and take in the new occupants. The main gates had been opened wide, letting a cold breath of air snake its way into the building, the flames of the fireplace quivering. The Imperial army was slowly advancing, their armors shining and clattering as they made their way over to the far end of the room, right where the king was. 

Doyoung’s breaths were still coming out in strained puffs, his heart beating its way out of his hollowed chest. He swallowed, eyes raking over every armored individual that he could see. Unfortunately, the crowd of guests was too thick for him to have a clear view. When he directed his eyes back to his father, who was standing in front of his carved throne, Doyoung realized that it was his duty to stand beside him. So, with a last glance towards the troops, he strode back to his seat. The king merely nodded at him, signaling him to straighten his shoulders. Doyoung followed the action, dusting off his noble garb. 

By then, the whole hall had been fully occupied by the first rank of the Legion, General Tullius leading the soldiers. With a shout and a sweeping movement, everyone halted in their tracks. They were all wearing helmets that showed their faces, but the way that their heads were bent in sign of reverence, made recognizing each and every one of them hard. Doyoung put on his best grateful smile when the General bowed first in front of his father then him. 

“Your Highness, I lead here to your presence the highest ranking individuals that the Legion could train. Serving our kingdom is an honor, and your guidance no less than the blade of Talos.” 

Doyoung was aware that his father wasn’t beloved by everyone, his political and religious beliefs clashing with the one of their people, yet under his reign, Solitude had come to prosper. 

“May the Divines bless our path and Talos look upon this battle.” The king acknowledged, his fervent words resonating against the nude walls. Somewhere in the distance Doyoung caught Taeyong lowering his head, before he disappeared again behind a door. 

General Tullius called two of the soldiers to stand beside him, and when Doyoung finally crossed eyes with the one person that he had yearned to see all night, he could feel his anxiety melting away, past his knees and toes. 

“Let me introduce Your Majesty to two of the most outstanding legates in our lines.” The two soldiers removed their helmets, kneeling in front of the king. 

“Here is Seo Youngho of The Reach, our Legion’s blade.” General Tullius pointed to the taller man. His black hair was long, pulled back into a half ponytail. He smiled at the king, then at Doyoung, the prince nodding in approval. 

“And here is Nakamoto Yuta of The Pale, our eyes and bow.” 

Yuta rose to his feet, his auburn hair clashing against his pale complexion. He directed his attention toward the king as he spoke. “It is a great honour for me to stand before you as one of your loyal warriors.” 

Then he turned his smoldering gaze at Doyoung. “May my arrows serve you good, until the last breath I take.” 

The hall smelled sweet from the food that was still being consumed, but a rich, earthy undertone was now mixed with it. Doyoung recognized it being something that always lingered around Yuta. He had wondered if was due to the latter carrying elf’s blood in him, the smell of his skin as part of him as his pointy ears and slender built. 

In a fluid motion, Yuta took Doyoung’s hand in his and brought it to his lips, not kissing the royal ring as it was custom, but the rough skin of his knuckles. And as he had just being burnt, Doyoung retracted his hand with a start, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. Undeterred by such an action, Yuta smiled at the prince, mischief dancing in his irises. 

The king pinned a silver medal on both the soldiers’ chests, thanking them for their courage. Then, everyone in the hall exploded in cheers when Youngho and Yuta lifted their swords to the sky, pledging allegiance to the kingdom. 

 

Doyoung’s quarters were located right next to the wide porch that overlooked the Dunstad grove. From there, he could gaze upon the Sea of Ghosts that spanned the north of Tamriel. Perennial ice had set upon it, its waters cold enough to be inhospitable to many submarine life. In the distance, if Doyoung squinted ever so slightly, he could see the Throat of The World, the highest mountain that towered above all of Skyrim. Past that was the Rift, where the Legion would have to march to to battle. 

A cold wind gripped Doyoung’s heart, the anxiety that had vanished when he had seen Yuta’s face, back again with a vengeance. He knew that there was nothing that he could do nor say to stop this military action that his father saw fit, yet he wished with everything that he had that he could at least postpone it. Let the days until Yuta’s inevitable departure last longer. 

“A true prince of ice looking upon his land, I see.” 

The voice that Doyoung was so familiar with was laced with a smile, his steps as silent as the approach of winter. 

“I’m surprised that you’re not out there getting your ego stroked.” 

Yuta sidled up next to Doyoung, leaning over the bannister. His cheeks were tinted pink from the wine that he had probably been consuming with his comrades, his skin softly glowing under the starry sky. 

“You’re so cold to me, my prince.” 

Doyoung scoffed, pulling his fur coat tighter around his shoulders. “Hasn’t the king given you enough praises?” 

Warm breath tickled the prince’s neck, a pair of arms sneaking around his waist. “You know that there is only one person I yearn to hear them from.” 

Doyoung’s breath hitched in his throat, his back melting against Yuta’s chest. There were so many things that he wanted to say, but every word got stuck at the back of his palate, as thick as pine tar. 

Northern lights had started to form into the night sky, hues of greens and purples radiating over the iced sea. Doyoung’s gaze was unfocused, his senses attuned to the breathing motion of Yuta’s chest and the gentle kisses that he was peppering at the side of his neck. 

“I can hear you think.” Another kiss. “Stop. For tonight, stop.”

Doyoung turned around in the embrace, his eyes steely as he took in Yuta’s appearance from up close. His hair wasn’t as long as he had remembered, the soft locks barely covering the pointed tips of his ears. His body was a solid presence under his fingers. Doyoung’s whole life had been a battle between never getting too attached and desperately needing an anchor to this world. 

If Doyoung had to describe what Yuta was to him he could only think of one word: unexpected. He had arrived as a sweeping storm, his arrows the lightning and his words the howling wind. And the prince himself couldn’t back down from such a challenge. As he bored his gaze deeper into Yuta’s eyes, he wondered when was it that he lost — swept away into the clouds.

“The nerve to command your prince around like this.”

Yuta cupped Doyoung’s cheeks, leaning in to lay a kiss on his lips. His scent was heady. 

“Would the prince be so kind to guide me to his rooms?” He hummed, thumbs drawing lazy circles right over Doyoung’s cheekbones. 

“Do you have a death wish?” Despite the bite behind the prince’s words, they didn’t carry any real threat with them. Doyoung chased Yuta’s mouth, nibbling on his lower lip. 

“I don’t, but I do wish for something else.” The sleazy grin that followed those words hardly belonged to an elf, yet it was so typically _Yuta’s_. 

 

The prince quarters retraced the style of the main hall, the floors covered with plush, heavily decorated carpets. The walls were covered in tapestries and display cases enclosing celebratory weapons. As Doyoung and Yuta made their ways through the corridor, their rushed movements almost had an ancient vase fall off of a dresser. They couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, the burning need to _get more_ being amplified by the awareness that there was some kind of finality to that night. 

As Yuta pressed Doyoung against the closed door of his room, hands undoing the laces of his shirt, the latter insistently mouthed along his neck. Yuta’s skin tasted like honeydew and spices, and Doyoung could barely contain himself from biting down. In a flurry of movements, he inverted their positions, pinning Yuta with all his weight. This time, he sank his teeth right over his pulse, the blooming pride of knowing that he would see a bruise there the next morning expanding throughout his chest. 

“Gods, someone’s needy tonight”, Yuta panted out, his hands still trying to undress Doyoung. Once he had wrestled the robes off of the prince, he snaked his arms around his back, trailing his fingertips along his spine and then down his thighs. Doyoung’s mouth and teeth were still stubbornly working over that spot on Yuta’s neck, so when he felt himself being lifted, he couldn’t keep in a surprised yelp. 

“Oof, did you gain weight?” Yuta grimaced. He repositioned Doyoung’s weight so that he could comfortably walk over to the bed.

“Don’t drop me, idiot!” 

“Calm down, my Lord”, Yuta huffed out with a laugh. “This was supposed to be hot.”

Doyoung was hanging onto Yuta with his legs and arms like a grapevine growing on a steep wall. “Well, this is terrifying, so you better put me —”

He didn’t get to finish his complaint that he was being tossed on the bed. 

“Here you go, _princess_ ”, Yuta curtseyed obnoxiously, making Doyoung scoff in retaliation.

The moon was high in the sky, casting its pale light inside the bedroom. When Yuta stood upright, his profile got illuminated by a silver sheen. Doyoung’s words died in his mouth, his brain frazzling momentarily. He could see the same awe being reflected in the other’s eyes, shadows of promises crossing his features. 

Yuta advanced with purpose in his steps, kneeling on the soft mattress and leaning forward into Doyoung’s space. He used his left elbow to hover above him. His eyes were dripping with so much affection that the prince’s heart couldn’t help but constrict in his chest. There were words unsaid settling between them, like the mists of the Summersets Isles. 

Pushed forward by a raw pang of desperation, Doyoung kissed Yuta with fervor. His mouth was so familiar, yet Doyoung felt like he needed to explore more. He knew every ridge and crack of it, all the veiled wanders that it could bestow upon his body, but a deep-rooted fear ate away at his convictions. His tongue run over places that he had dreamed about more than once, meeting Yuta’s eyes once he broke the kiss off. 

Again, no words were exchanged as they discarded the last of their clothes, and only the moonlight dressed them up in her silver embrace. 

 

Soft caresses woke Doyoung up, gentle patterns being drawn on his naked back. The last tethers that tied him to the dream world slowly dissolved as the clear warmth of a mouth was being placed on the nape of his neck. He groaned, furrowing his brows when the bright sun hit his eyes. 

“Rise and shine, my love.” 

Doyoung blinked his eyes open, turning on his back. Some of his hair was getting in his eyes, so he shook his bangs to have a clearer vision of Yuta’s sleepy smile. His dark locks were sticking up on a side, the imprint of the pillow on his cheek. Something about his appearance made Doyoung want to either curse at him or pull him to himself. There were bruises forming along his neck and chest, nails scratches running along his right side. 

“If you need to leave then leave”, were Doyoung’s first words. 

Yuta pouted, hitting him on the chest. “Ugh, this is the last time I call you anything other than _evil skeever_.” 

“Ugly troll.”

“Toothless horker.” 

“Fat mammoth.” 

With a wail, Yuta plopped down on the bed. “I always forget how insufferable you are in the mornings.”

Doyoung had a little victorious smile on his mouth, and he didn’t even try to hide it. 

It took them both some time to stop elbowing each other in the sides before getting out of bed. The silk covers were crumpled on the floor, items of clothing scattered all over the room. Doyoung was the first to collect his own garments, Yuta’s gaze following him. 

“Just spit it.”

Doyoung lifted his gaze from where he was bent down trying to untangle his diadem from his pants. “Excuse me?”

Yuta made a vague gesture with his hands. “Something is bothering you. Clearly.” And as to prove his point, he pointed at his own forehead. Doyoung reached up to touch his own, feeling how it was wrinkled up. He tried to relax his muscles, but a slight strain still marred them. 

Yuta got up, walking towards Doyoung. He took the clothes from his hold and placed them on the bed. Then, he took the prince’s hands in his. 

“Whatever is bothering you, I want you to know that we can solve it. Together.” 

Doyoung stared at their joined hands. They were both still stark naked, the morning sun now warming up their skin. The smell of grass and flowers permeated the air — Doyoung wasn’t sure if it came from outside of it was Yuta’s scent rolling off of him, sweet as honey. 

“There is nothing to solve, Yuta. You’re leaving for war. What is there to solve.” Doyoung directed his unwavering gaze at Yuta, who was now looking back at him with his brows drawn together. The peaceful planes of his visage morphed into a more stormy look. 

“My father has made his decision, you have made yours. To be honest with you, I’m feeling like a fool, having to witness to this absolute _hogwash_.” Doyoung breathed in, deeply. “Yet, apparently, everyone saw this as some unavoidable scenario —”

“Not you, though.” Yuta whispered. 

The prince’s breath was coming out ragged, his composure slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He disentangled his hands from Yuta’s firm grip. 

“What I see fitting has no echo in this kingdom.”

There was a hint of exasperation in Yuta’s words when he spoke again. “But you are going to be the next ruler of this land, Doyoung. Pull yourself out of your father’s shadow for once.” 

The prince took in a sharp intake of air. It burned his lungs. 

“Don’t talk to me about what I should do. You should learn how to keep your promises first.” Each one of his words cut like daggers. Doyoung could see Yuta sinking back into his own skin, closing up into himself — a vision of a younger elf crossed Doyoung’s mind, easier days. 

With fast, calculated movements, Yuta picked up his own clothes, pulling them on. Once he was all decked in his Legion garments, he stood at the door, staring resolutely at the handle. 

“I serve this kingdom with a clear conscience.” Yuta cast a meaningful look at Doyoung. “Someone made it worth it.” 

And just like that, he closed the wooden door behind his back. 

With a heavy heart and heavier bones, Doyoung collected the remainder of his clothes. The stemming resolution of not taking part to the troops departing ceremony rooted in his mind by the time he was done.

The smell of grass and flowers had left the room, nothing but the stale stench of unwashed covers what remained.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/loonapathy)


End file.
